


Green Blood fanfiction (Edward King x (Y/N) (male)) tho there's gonna be some good yaoi so obviously fellow fujoshis (girl trash) and fudanshis (boy trash) are all welcome onto this trashpile ;)

by orphan_account



Category: Green Blood - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, American Civil War, American Politics, Explicit Language, Gangs, M/M, Other, Racist Language, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-05-31 04:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19418485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The conclusion of the civil war brought about the dawn of a new era that spread across America, bringing with it the immigrants carrying the infamous 'American Dream'. Despite this revolution however, the government remains corrupted, littering the streets with its pollution whilst salvaging the benefits of gang activity. It was here that (y/n) first set foot into the western soil, carrying with himself the horrid anxiety of the letter he retained from his friend weeks ago, detailing the clause of his supposed death.Yet if (y/n) had even an inkling of the catastrophic 'American Dream' he was about to f*ck himself into, he would've sipped a glass of gin and sailed home crying.++++++Important if you care a lot about American history: I just want you to know that this is an AU of a manga and despite its similar premise to the real world, it holds no real guarantee to it and sustains fiction as its primary source.





	1. 01

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys does anyone know how to use italics in archive? I would really appreciate it, as I'm not really *that familiar with the whole Archive of Our Own thingamajigy yet.

Jonathan’s voice scraped against the tune of the song, gasping and panting for the vast majority of quavers he failed to achieve. The people around him stood awkward, shaken from the horrible tremors the performance ordered them to endure.

As the last verse went into play, his voice showcased numerous cracks, drops and gasps before finally settling his shoulders to the last note, feeding the so called ‘presentation’ to the tense atmosphere of the district.

It was suffocating, awkward and most of all humiliating for Jonathan as he stumbled to the front and bowed for the quiet claps of the few who pitied him.

‘What had he done wrong? Just why did his voice fail him like this?’

Those questions clanged inside his head like a bell, ramming against the side of his skull painfully. He couldn’t even bother looking into the brim of his hat - aware that there was no way anyone will or should be paying for the quality he had just presented - and quickly tipped it onto his hair. Though as he did so, a shiny object twinkled as it dropped out of his hat. It held a silver glare, and though its value was akin to practically nothing, Jonathan took it gladly.

‘It __was__ a start’ he thought.

-

(Y/N) creaked open the door and almost fell from some of the men crowding around it. He __hated__ this place, more so than he did for the people who occupied it. This wooden structure was basically the breeding ground from men to monsters, and he had seen the cycle repeat itself one too many times.

An ugly smell of cigar entered into his nose as a man…clearly of foreign descent spat out with a loud and burly voice, “America! That’s right boys! We’re heading off to the land of dreams!” A cheer echoed within the entire vicinity, spreading to even the niggers that have gathered.

(Y/N) inwardly scoffed.

‘Just wait till they realise…if they will. They’ll have transformed into their own freak-show in no time. Perhaps then, they’d have achieved their ‘American Dream’ from all the revenue __that__ would sail in.’

He poured a glass of murky liquid for the ones sitting near the side, who were clearly apathetic and distant to the whole ordeal.

(Y/N) clicked his tongue. And __these__ , lo behold were the ones who had survived the transformation from men to monster.

Many had beards that lead to their hips which were sashed with mere stitches of fabric that had protected them from the cold and heat alike. Their light eyes were glued to the ground empty and many didn't have the energy to notice when (Y/N) offered them the swamp water, though perhaps there were other reasons for that.

“Boy. What do you think of it?” An old man with green eyes and a frosty beard uttered dryly, raising his cracked bowl. (Y/N) immediately poured the filthy stuff inside.

“The land of dreams? Or the dimwits over there?”

The man laughed, nodding his head.

“I see…we still have people like you.”

(Y/N) hunched an eyebrow, serving the next.

“Just ask anyone who’s not an idiot.”

The man did another smile before taking a sip of his bowl - and very quickly recoiled in shock.

“Ugh, even I haven’t tasted anything as foul as this.”

Seeing this, the ones after him placed their bowl down rapidly, not even pretending to act somewhat polite.

“We __do__ call it swamp water after all.” (Y/N) said, tipping the canister backwards, before showing the man what was inside.

The sludge rolled with the water, which had been dyed a colourful brown from it.

“What in the heavens is that?”

“Pig organs.”

“Oh my fucking god.” He said wiping his tongue off of his shirt.

(Y/N) laughed and gestured to the others he had already served.

“Anyone want some more?”

They all ran to the other side of the room, with a few exceptions going for the door to relieve their stomach in the ocean.

“Why the hell are you still in business?”

“Don’t ask me.”

The vicinity erupted with another cheer as a shorter charismatic idiot riles the young’uns up with __his__ version of the glorified nonsense. The old man looked on quietly, and in a sense, wisely. (Y/N) glanced ahead too.

“For your question, old man. It’s utter nonsense. The land of dreams? The ploy to grow rich in a completely foreign country with nothing? It sounds like a fairytale from the grimoire for idiots.”

“Which is perfect for the men of our country.”

“Good riddance.”

The old man rested his figure, settling into the wall behind him.

“Welp, I’ve come back. I guess the country still needs the stupid ones.”

(Y/N) laughed.

“We’re all stupid when we’re young, but there’s a fine line between that and bein’ an idiot. You for one, are an idiot but you’re not stupid.”

The old man closed his wrinkly eyes and did a little tug at his lips.

“I see…” He waved a hand.

“Gimme some space will ya boy? I need a bit of rest.”

“Don’t die on me alright?” (Y/N) muttered before standing up again. It was part of his job to say that to anyone who was spending the night there. And often it didn’t work.

-

.

-

The light slowly changed its shape to the passing time, before it ceased altogether into the sinking shadows of the night.

(Y/N) creaked the door open to the cloudy weather which was illuminated by the little flakes of fire still glimmering in the nearby buildings.

__“For your question, old man. It’s utter nonsense. The land of dreams? The ploy to grow rich in a completely foreign country with nothing? It sounds like a fairy-tale from the grimoire for idiots.”_ _

Those words repeated themselves as he strolled onto the sandy road.

“Truly, only an idiot would believe in it.” He muttered, furrowing his eyebrows.

That ear-piercing voice from seas away sang with the harmony of a fly, something he hadn't heard - or missed - for so many weeks as it conjured itself in his mind.

“That fucking stupid idiot. He’s hopeless.”

-


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promise the juicy stuff is going to come very soon. This is tedious for all of you I know.

The sun was filtering in through the vertically shaped ledges of the window, yet the drapes of old clothes covered it in protest. (Y/N) was definitely not an early bird- as feminine as that sounds- or else his salary wouldn’t be so crippling either.  
As he was just about to tumble back into his blankets, a light knock resounded upon his door. (Y/N) grunted. It took a few more to convince him that it wasn’t a mistake or some other sort of excuse he wished existed.  
‘Anything…just don’t let me get out of bed…’  
“Excuse me, Mr (L/N)? Are you in here?”  
(Y/N) sighed. This was probably something he needed to answer. It wasn’t every day he was referred to by his last name.  
“Yep!” He replied twisting his feet to the ground before massaging the bridge of his nose. 

Suiting himself up with a ragtag combination of random fabric, it wasn’t long before he went to answer the door.  
“Yea?” (Y/N) did his best to keep his voice under control, careful not to reveal too much annoyance to the man who was just doing his job.  
“You’ve got a letter.” The man outside was petite in his movements and carefully flipped out an envelope sealed with some sort of brand.  
(Y/N) received it with a bit of courtesy in mind, trying to subconsciously match the other person’s manner. “Thank you.”  
“Well, I’ll be going now Mr (L/N). I apologise for disturbing your sleep.”  
“Oh yeah…about that, what time is it?”  
“Approximately 5:30.”  
“God...”  
(Y/N) looked at the other with a profound sense of admiration and pity, before tilting his head to bid goodbye. He was never good with others servicing for him, despite working in that industry himself.

He sat back at the tiny wooden desk, flipping the envelope around for anything that may be written on the packaging. (Y/N) didn’t want to miss anything after all, it wasn’t everyday a single man like him received a letter.  
‘Strange.’ He hadn’t known anyone even a little less stingy enough to throw away some of their toiletries so why would anyone actually send a letter.  
After shining it under the sunlight, it was confirmed that the only thing visible on the outside was the brand. The design was quite eerie, “with a black thing with a skull carrying a sword thing.” (Y/N) blushed. He really sucked at explaining things.  
But to simplify it all, it truly felt like a mark of death. Maybe even a letter to pronounce the passing of one of his friends.   
He laughed before grimacing his mouth as if he had a bitter taste he couldn’t get rid of.  
Of course…was he dumb? That bastard Jonathan finally cut the last strand between him and (Y/N), severing his life in the ‘Land of Dreams’. This was the letter that confirmed it.  
Despite the nagging feeling wrenching in his stomach, the other still carefully opened it, flipping the folded piece of paper open.  
‘It is to our greatest regrets that Jonathan Harbor has passed away on November the 25th, 1873 through an aggravated assault. We are deeply gratified and in debt through his heroic actions of protecting the civilians, and send this letter to you as condolence.

Signed. Jermeiah Linkerladhn a.k.a G. H.’  
(Y/N) paused for a moment. Silent. It wasn’t because of sentimentality, or sadness or even some sort of madness. It was to a chill that ran down his spine like a spark of electricity, landing to his feet as he bit the side of his cheek.  
‘This letter…was fucking lying. Straight out of its ink.’  
His hands trembled lightly, a breakage of adrenaline spreading throughout his blood.  
The signs weren’t obvious for any stranger, yet it held a great significance towards (Y/N).

One of the first clues was the date of his ‘death’, which was only yesterday. It would’ve been absolute nonsense for a letter to the Queen to depart from America and to her in just one day, let alone a letter of condolence to an absolute stranger. Yet the most chill-inducing sign was the name that was signed off. Jermeiah Linkerladhn or G.H. That name couldn’t have been a coincidence...just where in America would they choose to use such a logic defying alias? This was made up by him and Jonathan when they both dreamed for the riches of America, a name that would replace (Y/N)’s forever, rewriting his identity as an American man. For which they both promised to never share until the day came when they needed to use it.

That’s right. No one but Jonathan would know about it. Despite having a voice riddled with holes…his promises were definitely stable and filled.   
(Y/N) re-winded the exact words of that day, recalling each one with surprising clarity: ‘We pledge that we will not share a single stroke or vowel of that name unless the time comes when either him or I truly need to use it.’  
He was really starting to sweat now, yet his dehydration went unnoticed from the intensity of his emotions.   
‘This fucker, was he calling for help? From America?’  
The thought originated from the word ‘need’. And (Y/N) was sure he didn’t need to explain much more. But at the same time, he didn’t want to be too rash. Rushing off to America without even confirming anything was just too-  
Something rifted against his finger as he brushed against the paper. It was a folded triangle. He pulled on it and the paper released itself into a pile of documents, with some separate and others joint.  
(Y/N) was truly about to melt into the summer mud.   
‘Jonathan! When I said you were good at origami, I didn’t mean it this way!’  
The documents revealed a passport and others that would support him to America, along with a paper with handwriting (Y/N) did recognise. Albeit it being very messy and almost unreadable which was rare for Jonathan.  
‘I’m sorry (Y/N). You were right. I’m not going to request for much, as I was the one who wronged you but please…you’re the only one left I can call to. For the sake of old times and a rekindled promise…please come. 

Signed. Jake Windsor’  
Jake Windsor was the name (Y/N) made for Jonathan, and of course, the same promise applied to him as well.

(Y/N) clicked his tongue. His shift was going to start in around an hour, yet this was so much more important. A breath was forced out as he managed it slowly.  
Out…  
In…  
Out…  
In…  
With his mind a bit more clearer, (Y/N) decided to go for today. He adjusted his clothing to more acceptable valor and quickly prepared a resignation notice to give.  
Just a few more hours. You can do it.  
-


End file.
